


Time will bring you to me like the wind

by unnieunnie



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Exos in middle age, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Pining over the past, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23246206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unnieunnie/pseuds/unnieunnie
Summary: For prompt 11: When Minseok looks at Junmyeon sitting across from him at the table in the small bar, he can see the lines around his eyes. The years came for all of them, one way or another. It’s been years since EXO was “one”. Most days Minseok can say he’s happy with that. On some especially cold days, he misses it, them, /him/. So when Junmyeon asks if he would come back, just one more time, for old time’s sake, he says yes, even when dread fills his stomach.
Relationships: Past Kim Jongdae | Chen/Kim Minseok | Xiumin - Relationship
Comments: 19
Kudos: 62
Collections: SnowSpark Fest Round One





	Time will bring you to me like the wind

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS AN AU!!
> 
> This is 100% intended as an AU, with no reflection whatever on the real lives of EXO members.
> 
> xoxoxoxoxo

Minseok stared at his phone.

How many years had it been since he had seen “leader” on the screen?

It wasn’t worth counting. Too many. He always meant to call, check in, catch up. Meant to call Channie each November. Meant to congratulate Sehun on his latest modeling contract. Meant to eat at Soo’s restaurant up in the mountains.

Never did.

The phone jangled again. Minseok pressed the green dot.

“Jun?”

“Hyung.”

Junmyeon’s voice was as light and smooth as ever. He laughed, once.

“Doctor.”

“Hi,” Minseok said.

All at once, Minseok felt his feet go numb. Something must be wrong. Why else would Junmyeon call him? Something had happened. Someone was hurt, or – or gone. Oh, it couldn’t be any of them, he couldn’t bear it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Min,” Junmyeon said.

That tone, gentle as warm water, made Minseok feel as if he was twenty-one again, standing on a precipice of simultaneous dread and excitement, his dream fulfilled but at the cost of leaving home.

“We’re one,” Jun had said then. “I didn’t just make it up to sound good, I mean it.”

As he had back then, Minseok took a deep breath.

“It’s thirty years, in April,” Jun said. “I know it sounds crazy, I don’t know. I thought, maybe?”

Minseok knew what “maybe” meant, of course. But he’d make Jun say it.

“Maybe what?”

The long, frustrated sigh was also something Minseok hadn’t heard in years, and it made him smile.

“Meet me for coffee?”

“All right.”

The CEO of SM Entertainment would hardly want to meet at a Starbucks. Minseok rolled his eyes at the austere white-and-steel décor of the impossibly chic coffee shop. He sat at the shiny table and was served an espresso in a tiny white cup.

The espresso was, at least, excellent.

Minseok had invested his idol money as his financial advisors told him to and donated his professor’s salary back to the university: he supported his elderly parents, his sister, and himself in comfort. He hadn’t worn anything off the rack since high school.

But Junmyeon’s suit was the sort of thing hand-sewn in London. His shoes were Italian, handmade. His skin was clear and smooth. His hug was warm.

“You look wonderful,” he said. “Younger than me still, you bastard.”

Minseok grinned.

“Liar.”

Junmyeon sat, ordered with ease of someone clearly used to a crowd hanging off of every word. Smiled the light, habitual smile of someone taught to avoid wrinkles. Minseok identified an ache in his chest: he had missed this face. Even missed the way Jun walked into a room and assumed everyone in it would listen to him.

“Professoring suits you,” Jun said.

“Running the hallyu world suits you,” Minseok said.

Junmyeon smiled, shrugged. Sipped his cappuccino. By the time he set his cup on the table, his smile was gone.

“Thirty years,” he said.

“A lifetime.”

Junmyeon nodded. He took a deep breath.

“I want to preface this by blaming Yixing.”

Minseok could only laugh with surprise.

“Xing! My god, how is he?”

Jun grinned.

“Exhausted, per usual. Says he’d be dead if it weren’t for that wife of his locking him down to sleep for a week every six months. He said this was her idea, actually.”

Minseok found himself in his natural state of vague suspicion.

“What?”

“We were thinking a showcase,” Jun said. “Lottery for fans, live stream on the web.”

At first, 100% of Minseok wanted to say no. Then he realized it was more like 94%. Then his old, habitual sense of duty kicked in, and he figured that what he wanted wasn’t going to enter into it.

“I know it’s difficult,” Jun said gently.

Difficult. What did Jun know about it?

He looked at Jun’s bare left hand and bit his tongue.

Of course, he was still the oldest.

“Only if everyone else says yes,” Minseok said. “I won’t do it if we won’t be nine.”

Jun’s slow smile held pity in it.

“You’re the last one I asked. Everyone else agreed. To meet, at least, and talk about it.”

So then he was stuck.

Even worse, Minseok had 3 weeks to brood about it.

He could laugh at Chanyeol’s immediate attempt to set up a group chat that only Junmyeon and Jongin bothered to respond to, beyond Sehun’s initial “hi.” He let himself stare at everyone’s icon photo, even though they told him nothing he didn’t already know: he’d just seen Jun, Baek and Sehun’s faces were still everywhere even after so many years. Soo’s was his restaurant sign, and Jongin’s a pile of child and dog legs obviously from naptime. Yixing’s his latest album cover, Chanyeol’s his studio logo. His own a random photo maybe a decade old.

And a grey circle with the white letter “J” in the center.

Typical.

He’d bought all of Jongdae’s solo albums over the years, of course. Not that he could bear to listen to any of them. Usually he conveniently “forgot” them after purchase at one of the campus cafes. The title tracks were generally unavoidable for several months, anyhow. He’d be able to mention a couple of songs and not sound like a jerk.

Assuming that he could look Jongdae in the eye, and not turn on his heel to leave, like he had the last time.

That was the point at which Minseok shoved some memories away. He went to the gym, to the sauna. Taught a couple of classes.

Sadly, the stillness of grading a forearm-high pile of final essays made too much opportunity for his brain to act up.

It crept up on him, the memory of the last time he’d seen Jongdae. One minute, he was reading an 8-page essay on the use of articulation in the works of Bartok, and the next minute he was in a boutique in Myeongdong, a blue sweater on a hanger in one hand, staring with his mouth open at Jongdae. Jongdae guiding a stroller with one hand. Wearing all black, awkward and voluminous. Terrible hair. Beautiful.

“Hyung?” Jongdae had said. “Oh my god, hyung, is it you?”

Sixteen years later, Minseok still burned with the shame of how he had plunked the sweater back on the rack and marched out the shop’s side door without a word. In a file buried in the deepest corners of his computer, he still had the two text messages he had received that day and the day after “Minseokkie-hyung, did you not want to see me?” and “I’m so sorry, Seok-hyung. I really miss you.”

Minseok only looked at that contents of that file, with its painful emails and old photos, when he was unbearably drunk. Early April. Late September. All the times when he ached for what might have been.

The semester ended, and Minseok was left to his own devices: a week and a half until his meeting his former members, nothing to stand between himself and the onslaught of memory. No matter where he went, he couldn’t escape it: ordering jjamppong reminded him of the training room, the gym reminded him of dance practice, he found himself singing EXO songs in the shower instead of his standard opera.

Lying in bed reminded him.

Minseok could see – had been able, for years, to see – how young they’d been, how frightened and worried, the two of them together in China without any language to hold onto other than each other’s. Even if being able to see how vulnerable they had been made no difference in how much it hurt. And when members had started to leave, that wariness in other people’s eyes, how much they had clung to each other, wanting to prove their loyalty, while at the same time knowing that the K members had no idea what it had been like.

It had been the easiest option, when they were young and under the strict eyes of managers and executives, to turn to each other for solace. They’d always had the reputation, long after EXO had become one group, of being the unbreakable pair.

Maybe he had taken it for granted.

That thought made Minseok shove his brooding aside for several days in favor of rambling walks around his neighborhood and seafood stews spicy enough to make him weep.

Time passed, as time had a terrible habit of doing, until Minseok had only one more day left, huge and stifling as a debt coming due.

Minseok remembered how hard he had tried.

He had sung the good-luck song at Jongdae’s wedding. Had sent gifts when their daughter was born. He’d tried so hard to love anyone else, until the agony of it made loneliness seem like the better option.

After so many years, he was so used to himself, he wasn’t sure there was room for anyone else. Even Jongdae. Who even was Jongdae, anymore? People changed, right? After almost 20 years.

Minseok remembered who he had been. Jongdae. Dongsaeng. His small waist between Minseok’s hands. The joyous curve of his mouth. His pouting voice in the morning, protesting for an hour’s more sleep, before he gave himself up to pleasure.

Minseok hadn’t minded, those years of them together, when Jongdae had played with Taozi, with Jun, with Baek and Channie. They were all young and hyped up on adrenaline in those days. It has been normal and safe to find release with each other. Minseok had trusted that underneath, he and Jongdae were each other’s touchstone, since those days in China, isolated by culture despite the efforts of their teammates.

It was only what lay between the two of them that hurt.

He remembered with the clarity of regret the night when he’d been on vacation from the army: watching them in concert, how beautiful they had all been. The complete stillness in his body when Jongdae had said, “Kim Minseok, did you see me?”

The crystalline poignancy of their time together afterward, in the apartment Jongdae had threatened to claim. Jongdae’s fingers in his military-short hair, frowning, until Minseok had leaned in to kiss that frown away.

For all those early years, Minseok had deluded himself that their embraces had been those of lonely boys. It wasn’t until that night on leave from the army, with Jongdae asleep in his arms, that he had admitted to himself that it meant anything more. A burden of foolishness on his own heart that he packed away into silence.

And 18 months later, pounding on that same apartment door, Jongdae on the other side of it, on his own leave, without warning. He’d stared. Minseok was working on a joke about the weird lumpiness of his shaved head, when Jongdae stepped in, shut the door behind him, and claimed Minseok’s mouth. In the impossible sweetness of that kiss, Minseok understood finally that the delusion had gone both ways, and that neither of them was hiding now. Three days, they had had – quiet, sunshine, kisses. Coffee and delivery jajangmyeon. Jongdae’s eyes blinking sleepily open in the morning light. His laugh, chasing Tan across the living room. The way he’d tried to turn his head away before he left, to hide the tears he never liked to show.

No matter how many women and men Minseok had dated in the years since, none could drive away the memory of the flavor of Jongdae’s mouth.

None of them could erase the question that dogged Minseok through every sleepless night:

What if he had once said it? The easiest truth in the world, simple and plain. “I love you.”

“Hyung,” Jongdae had said, “what happens, when I get out?”

Eyes lowered, hands hesitant against his chest. Minseok could still see it, and he wanted to take up his past self, shake that idiot into bravery.

“We go on,” he had said.

Idiot.

Because Jongdae had gone on. Completed his military service and come out with a sheaf of songs composed, a whole plan to present to the executives. A solo tour. A brief CBX EP, a series of OSTs that kept him busy. Somehow they were always too busy, in those days, even to kiss, much less to talk. Minseok never pushed anyone. Of course he never pushed Jongdae.

And then, just – time. A pandemic, an almost-war. A recession, a comeback. Sehun’s dating scandal that turned out to be less a scandal than their maknae dragging society forward by the sheer force of his stubborn insistence on openly dating a boyfriend who went on the next year to leave him for someone blond and richer. Next thing Minseok knew, Jongdae was sending out wedding invitations, and asking him to do the impossible.

Which he did, being Kim Minseok, EXO’s Xiumin. He sang “Best Luck” without a single break in his voice. Pushed a lukewarm meal around on a plate, walked out, and didn’t speak to another member for over 10 years. Didn’t even let himself keep up with the gossip.

Not that he could miss the big moments: Jun taking over SM, Chanyeol’s Grammy. Nini shaving his head, Soo’s Michelin star. Baekhyun and Yixing taking over the pop world. Jongdae’s endless fucking morose ballads, every spring like torture on a schedule.

He’d been foolish enough to hope for a minute when he read about Jongdae’s divorce. But his phone stayed silent other than texts from his coworkers, the odd call from his sister. Minseok told himself he’d given up.

But had he?

Minseok stared at the stack of papers on his desk. If he’d really given up, why would the prospect of seeing Jongdae again bother him so?

Of course, the other option was that he’d been a lovesick, lonely fool his entire life.

His phone buzzed.

“Can’t wait to see you, hyung,” Baekhyun wrote.

Always the one who eased the way.

“Me too,” he wrote.

It was weird to drive to the old SM building – now mostly converted to recording spaces, but of course Jun wanted them to meet there. Minseok could feel his younger self’s sense of anticipation when he stepped into the elevator.

Chanyeol was waiting at the top.

“Minseokkie hyung!”

Minseok had forgotten the force of those hugs. Chanyeol squeezed a laugh out of him, rocked him from side to side.

“Why’d you make me miss you so much, hyung? Look at you! You still look like a baby!”

“Shut up, I’m already fifty,” Minseok laughed.

“You’re obviously a vampire,” Chanyeol said. “Nini, come hug this demon-hyung.”

And there was Jongin, with his bald head and broad grin, as beautiful as ever. He was already trying to pull out his phone to show off kids and dogs before they were even disentangled from their hug. Yixing behind him, too brief, with promises to catch up later, Kyungsoo a calm spot in all that storm.

Sehun held him close, like he was trying to transfer strength. Minseok clung to him. When he stood up, Sehun’s eyes held sympathy. He nodded once, squeezed Minseok’s shoulder.

“Shoo,” he said to everyone else. “Let’s get this started, you know we’re going to be here gossiping all day long.”

He herded them down the hallway, leaving Baekhyun behind.

“J.D. got here an hour early,” he said. “And here you are, pretty much late. That’s how I know a million years have passed and we’ve all changed.”

Minseok pressed his lips together so they wouldn’t tremble. Baekhyun’s smile went soft, and his hug was so warm.

“He never did call you, did he? When he got divorced.”

Minseok shook his head. Baek rolled his eyes.

“Well, Jun owes me a meal on that bet, anyhow. He always did give Dae more credit for brains than he deserved.”

Minseok turned over the implications of this in his mind and felt himself start to sweat a little.

“Both of them too accommodating for their own good,” Sehun said, strolling back toward them. “Always have been. We all should’ve known better and set up some kind of rom-com meet-cute thing years ago, instead of hoping one of them would show some initiative.”

“Excuse me, what?” Minseok said.

“Dae-hyung’s having another round of hysterics. Let’s get this started before he passes out and Myeonnie has to resort to mouth-to-mouth or something.”

“Then you and Min both would be left out in the cold,” Baekhyun said with a grin.

Minseok wondered whether he was hallucinating from sheer stress.

Sehun glared.

“Shut up, hyung,” he said.

Baekhyun took one of Minseok’s arms and Sehun the other. Pretty smart, he supposed. It prevented any turning around and bolting for the stairwell.

“So, a showcase!” Baek chirped. “I was trying to sing some of the old songs the other day, and let me tell you, Unfair sounds pret-ty ridiculous from the lens of middle age.”

“We should definitely do Wolf,” Sehun snickered.

“God, please don’t make me dance,” Baekhyun groaned. “My poor knees.”

And they were at the door. It was just a conference room, ugly and stuffy, with water bottles and fruit on the table. Minseok felt the tight grasp on each of his arms. Saw the knot of the other members on the other side of the room.

Kyungsoo looked up and murmured something. They peeled away, one by one, until Minseok was looking at Junmyeon’s back. He turned, winked at Minseok. Stepped aside.

And there he was.

Minseok’s heart remembered how to beat again, after all those lonely years.

“Oh,” he said.

“Quit waiting, hyung,” Sehun whispered.

Minseok hadn’t known that he had a smile only for Jongdae, until that moment that he used it again, for the first time in too long.

“I told you, J.D.,” Chanyeol said.

The sun rose in that hideous conference room. Jongdae smiled.


End file.
